Please tell me how it happened. Where did all these f#@$ing toys come from? The house is over run with little plastic nicky-nacky-noos and so begins a mission to rid this house of crapola.
We're keeping the craft-box, the Lego, the Magnetix, the dress-ups, the train-set, the knights and castle, the pirates, a box of super hero figurines, a box of cars and bears for bed. Phew! Still sounds like a heap and that's after the cull. I think I need to go Steiner on the Toybox's ass...
The bears have been there from day one and are still going strong. Neuman, Snuffy the dog, Brown Bear Mini, Happy Leopard and Cozy Lion. (and yes, not technically all bears)
Apparently $14,000 dollars worth of bear. A Steiff but still... Come on people. No.
My sister was introduced to KL once. He gave an air-kiss on each cheek in the typical Euro style and she still walked away with a thick layer of make up and wig powder for her trouble. I would much rather these bears any day.
I was tagged by queering domesticity to tell you about six unspectacular quirks I possess. Her's are too funny. French-fries! No jokes, she has me in hysterics that one.
The rules say to tag 6 people but I think only 4 people read this thing so I'm breaking the chain in my usual slacker style. Here goes... 1. I have to rip paper up into smaller pieces before I throw it into the recycling. If I just throw a piece in un-ripped it feels wrong. 2. I find washing dishes meditative, it's my zen thinking time. I actually enjoy washing dishes, cutlery and glassware. Plastic containers and pots not so much. 3. I never EVER share a nail file, not even with my partner, it just grosses me out for some reason. 4. I can't wear skivvies or other high collars that rest on the neck, they make me feel hot and bothered and strangulated. Scarves are fine though. 5. I have to completely empty my bag at the end of the day and put every thing in it's place, even if I will just have to repack it in the morning. I can't get to sleep if my bag is unpacked. 6. I feel like I've lived in Melbourne before, in the 1920's, 30's and 40's. when I see pictures of Melbourne from those times I feel like that's how it's supposed to look, like I relate better to it then than now.
I started this blog as a place for family and friends to visit and check out what we've been up to. My partner in crime/life was born in the UK. His family (including a niece we've only been able to gush over in pictures) and most of his friends live there.
Some of my family live overseas as well. My Dad, his wife and two of my Sisters live in Hong Kong and my Sister Olly and her partner Carlos live in NY. There are a smattering of other friends scattered across the globe. (Hey Marty and Evie! How's France?)
The thing is I had forgotten how therapeutic it can be to write. After 'invasion-of-diary' trauma at sixteen (Hi Mum...) I moved out of home and stopped keeping one. I started keeping personal diaries again in 2002 but that writing has become very simplistic, just a few sentences per day.
When I start a post I just tap out all the blah in a flurry of emotion. If it's readable, I keep it and post. If I sound like a raving loon it's time to censor before it travels out into the webby ether.
Mostly, it's what is not posted, that which is deleted and scrapped that heals. So oddly, the blog that I began for the benefit of others has turned out helping me.
This blog is also shaped by those who comment on it and who come back and comment again. A little bit of kindness goes a long way and I've certainly needed cheering in the past few days.
This blog isn't about our cafe but the cafe is what we do and is therefore a huge part of our lives. We've had great reviews and now we've had what I consider to be a crap one. I don't know... Perhaps it's the kick in the ass that we didn't know we needed. Something to strive us forward.
To all you dudes who commented, thanks for putting a positive spin on it. I honestly never thought this blog would become a diary, a sounding board, a place to connect or free therapy. Hilarious!
Unfortunately whenever I am in a foul mood things start popping. Usually it's just light globes but on wednesday I zapped the washing machine to death.
Pirates are big in our house at the moment. Books, dress-ups, pirate-speak, puzzles.
We draw them and talk about them pretty much non-stop, so you can tell we were chuffed to get this little bit of Birthday-beaut in the postals.
Thanks Aunt Olive! The boy's wanted a Pirate Party for their Birthday so we asked a few of their kinda friends to bring their Mums/Dads/Siblings to the local pub after we closed the cafe. We've spent so much time passing in the hallway at kinda with our children, it was high-time we met these people properly.
This year we weren't feeling like enthusiastic or organised party-throwers so we opted for the Wesley-Anne in Northcote, hoping the other parents wouldn't assume we were total piss-pots.
So glad we did. Many of them had musical connections through different bands and because the little ones all got along so swimmingly, we've planned some other catch-ups.
We were the first in our group to get 'knocked-up' and the only ones with kids for ages. We took our babes everywhere in their twin-pram. House-parties, pubs, bars, festivals. There were always plenty of willing knees ready for them to sit on.
Once they got bigger we had to changed tack, now it's pool, park, bbq, back-yard and generally any other place that is enclosed and kid-friendly.
What's next for us I wonder? What new adventures await us in the next 5 years?
Where will our kid's take us and where will we take them?
Time will tell.
One thing is for sure, it will never be boring. ARRRRR!
"Excuse me young-lady, we don't hate, we dislike".
Gosh! The times I've heard this. 'Hate' was a curse-word in our house. Sure I pulled it out when I was a teen for shock value but I still don't like to use the word on a daily basis and I swear like a fishwife.
In the past two days Bubble and Squeak have both told me they hate me. The first was because I refused to allow Bubble to take a new toy to kinda, the second was because I put cereal in Squeaks bowl 'the wrong way'.
Have we entered some new stage comparable to the Terrible-Twos?
The Foul-Fives perhaps?
I hate to admit it but I'm beginning to sound like Mum...
Housed in a refurbished 1960's train carriage in the disused railway yard at Deptford Station in S/E London, The Deptford Project Cafe is one small part of a greater plan to regenerate the yards. It will eventually incorporate the restoration of a heritage listed Victorian carriage ramp, a public square and a new residential building. In the meantime the outdoor area will be used as an art and performance space, outdoor market, outdoor cinema and garden allotments.
Bubble and Squeak turned 5 on the first of August.
Those lovely little Leos!
I skived-off karate and we all went to Paula's for the night. She made one of her famous curries and we cracked a bottle of Dad's red and let the kid's go loco. Then the seven of us spent the rest of the evening watching 'Chicken Run' in sleeping bags on the lounge room floor.
This fifth anniversary has me thinking how time flies and about the 'human-ness' of calendars and dates. Sure seasons change and come and go but calendars are man-made. Spring doesn't start on the first of September because a date on the wall says so. It starts with green shoots and a frisky feeling. A quickening.
Rather morbidly, I wake with a sore neck on the anniversary of my friends (hanging) suicide every year (even though I've always completely forgotten about it... every year) When I do put two-and-two together and say a little prayer for him, the pain is gone within ten minutes. It used to freak me out but now I'm fine with it.
In other news, Bettina Bernina is back. We have a play-date on Monday.